


Polite (Unnecessary) Condolences

by Serendipitous_We_Meet_642



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Best Friends, Honestly Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mostly Made of Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-12 08:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipitous_We_Meet_642/pseuds/Serendipitous_We_Meet_642
Summary: The angel’s tone was a mixture of that blessed kind of concern, cautiousness, and curiosity, and Crowley couldn’t figure out which was worse.He couldn’t figure out what part of this entire situation was worse, actually, because there was a lot to choose from.  He had only wanted a nice lunch at the Ritz after the world and they had almost ended for Go- Sa- Somebody's sake!  Bloody angels and their bloody cleverness and stupidity.  Almost devious, if he didn’t know better.But he did, and he knew Aziraphale was being completely serious.  He had not a clue in the world, sometimes.





	Polite (Unnecessary) Condolences

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small and cute one-shot I had to write after watching the brilliant T.V. show! Set at the Ritz right after the End of the World That Decided It Couldn't. Enjoy!

There were certain moments when you could tell an angel was saying something simply to be polite. For instance, when an angel compliments your taste in apartments by saying,

“Oh my, this reminds me of that dungeon in Paris, you know. Nice grey color on the walls.” 

Similarly to when an angel labels your music as “interesting” (or as “bebop”). Or when an angel describes your haircut as “better than the last one you had, very ruffled looking.”

In all of the above cases, and in many more, you know an angel is really just being that very specific type of kindness that is reserved only for righteous angels and the British. That being, only one part sincere and most parts said only for the sake of having something to say.

So, when Aziraphale eyed Crowley over the top of his nearly empty wine glass, Crowley could almost feel the palpable polite concern radiating off him. A little strained even – Aziraphale must be losing his touch. Of course, that might just be fair after the weekend they’d had. Or the last 11 years, really.

“What?” Crowley asked, when he couldn’t take any more of that stare. 

“Well, I was just thinking... since everything been put in its right place again, you know, after Adam... you said something, before this whole mess started, about losing a, uh, friend of yours. Your best friend, you said. So, I was wondering if you’ve found them yet. If they’re all right,” Aziraphale finished, awkwardly twiddling with the stem of his wine glass. 

The angel’s tone was a mixture of that blessed kind of concern, cautiousness, and curiosity, and Crowley couldn’t figure out which was worse. He couldn’t figure out what part of this entire situation was worse, actually, because there was a lot to choose from*. He had only wanted a nice lunch at the Ritz after the world and they had almost ended for Go- Sa- Somebody's sake! Bloody angels and their bloody cleverness and stupidity. Almost devious, if he didn’t know better.

But he did, and he knew Aziraphale was being completely serious. He had not a clue in the world, sometimes. 

“Angel, I...” Crowley nearly took his sunglasses off, so he could look Aziraphale in the eye. He decided against it, if only for the sake of his remaining nerves (the ones that had somehow survived Saturday) and their waiter’s sanity. 

“Yes?” Aziraphale prompted. 

“Well, I... I mean, you... argh!” Crowley threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat. He almost looked skyward in a silent plea to get him out of this situation before thinking better of it at the last second. Who knew how angels would react to that sort of prayer coming from a demon. Or God’s reaction if she herself somehow heard it – that would be an interesting conversation**. 

“Crowley, whatever is the issue?” Maybe a bit more often than “sometimes” clueless, on second thought. 

“You’remybestfriendallright,” Crowley said, as hastily as possible. He didn’t care if they were on their own side together now. He was still a... well, he was still himself, and he wasn’t going to be caught spouting out this kind of sappy nonsense in the Ritz of all places. 

“What?” 

Was this his actual punishment from the “higher powers”? Another six thousand years with this- this angelic pillock? 

“I was talking about you. At the bar,” he admitted, slightly slower this time. 

“Me? But- oh.” Realization struck like lightning across Aziraphale’s face. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened, those eyes that always shifted between the grey of their London skies and the blue of the sunniest day. Not that Crowley had stared into them like some blithering romantic poet. It was just, what with all the changing clothing and hairstyles over the years, it was a useful thing to know specific facial features. They were a sparkling blue now.

“Right. So, yeah.” And that was all Crowley ever wanted to say about it again, thank you very much. Now, time to move on and... 

“But I was still alive.” Or not. 

“Yes, yes, well, I didn’t know that until you actually showed up in front of me, angel. All I found was- was a burning bookshop, no sign of you, hours before the Apocalypse, after I’d just been nearly killed by my side. You can’t blame me for... for thinking what I did.” Crowley’s tone bubbled with barely hidden frustration, but it wasn’t directed at the angel. It was aimed vaguely at the unsuspecting white tablecloth. 

They both let Crowley’s words hang in the air for longer than was entirely comfortable for either party. 

“So,” Aziraphale began, halted, and then restarted again like some crappy Japanese car. “So, all this time I... so you’re saying that you were drinking and, uh, mourning... me?” 

“Make a big fuss about it, won’t you,” Crowley commented wryly, looking anywhere but at the angel’s eyes. He had already played out enough rom-com tropes, as it was***. 

“So you mean to say-" 

“Yes, yes, yesss! All right, angel? Enough with the Spanish Inquisition****. Yes, I was- worried about you at the time, and yes, I was talking about you as my... best friend,” Crowley faltered for a moment. Aziraphale's face morphed into that look he gave when something really upset him – the corners of his mouth turned down just slightly, and his eyes became almost unfathomably big and wide. 

“Oh, I am so dreadfully sorry, Crowley. If I had only known-” 

“- but then you showed up, and it was fine. So, no more worries. End of story,” Crowley interrupted in as casual a tone as he could muster, hoping that Someone would make that kicked-puppy expression disappear. Or Crowley. Either way. 

Aziraphale looked at him for another long moment, before a small smile danced across his features. He murmured quietly, “Well, I suppose that is a relief, then.”

Crowley blinked in surprise, even though he knew Aziraphale couldn’t see it*****.

“What?” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked surprised himself that Crowley had heard him, and his cheeks flushed a gentle light pink. He took a bite of Crowley’s angel food cake almost absent-mindedly. That familiar smile slipped off as he pursed his lips. “You see, I thought maybe you had lost someone else. Someone other than me.” 

“Yeah, I figured that much.” Crowley frowned. 

“It’s just a relief to know there were no lasting casualties of this event, and all.” Aziraphale gave a sort of decisive nod, as if to confirm this had really been his only motivation******, then added suddenly, “This angel food cake is truly scrumptious, don’t you think?” 

Crowley bore with the segue, despite his own cat-killing curiosity. He even allowed his usual lazy smirk to reappear on his face. His cocky demeanor slipped back on like a mask, and the demon found himself avidly debating the differences between angel food cake and devil’s food cake with an angel.

“You know,” Aziraphale said a few minutes later, as the conversation lulled into silence and the pure enjoyment of the dancing notes of their wine and food. The little joys they had almost lost, along with so much else. “You’re my best friend, too. Just so you know.” 

His eyes did that sparkly thing, the one that nearly made Crowley- well, he wasn’t really sure what they made him feel, but it was tight and warm and hurt his chest. Needless to say, Crowley didn’t know what to say. He didn’t end up saying anything, in fact. Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind; he just smiled that ridiculous smile again and offered the demon some of his oysters.

And if Aziraphale’s polite concern had evaporated into a sort of bubbly joy, there was no one around to attest to it. No one that would think to say it, anyway. They were too busy pondering whether they needed to go read a good book right about now. 

And if Crowley’s smirk was just a tad more genuine, well, any witnesses suddenly found themselves with a mysterious gap in their memories and with five pounds missing from their pockets.

So, an angel and a demon continued to debate all manner of topics, ranging from Beethoven to ethics to ice cream flavours (of which, apparently, there were many). And that was enough. Crowley found he really didn’t need to say anything, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> *If he had to choose, though, he would go with the fact that now he had to actually repeat what his own bloody drunk self had unknowingly revealed. Yeah, that had been a buggering cock-up, for certain.
> 
> **Second only to the interesting nature of the conversation God had had with Aziraphale.
> 
> ***Even if he enjoyed them on his television programmes, that didn’t give them any permission to come creeping into his own life. He had to have some self respect. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself.
> 
> ****Which nobody expected.
> 
> *****Aziraphale could still tell.
> 
> ******You know, like a liar. Which he rarely ever was, but there were always exceptions. Plus, a tiny little half-lie barely counted anyway.


End file.
